I Was Just Wondering If Perhaps You Could Come Over
by AndAllThatMishigas
Summary: Set after 4.5, Ruth realizes what Harry may have thought when she'd asked him to come over late at night. And she wants to make sure he gets the correct idea this time.


**I Was Just Wondering If Perhaps You Could Come Over**

It was very late, and she knew it. But Ruth couldn't sleep. Now that the immediate danger was gone and she was back home and everything had returned to normal, the thoughts and realizations she'd shunted aside were now niggling at the back of her mind.

She'd called Harry because she didn't know what else to do. Gary had come to her for help, and who did she turn to when she needed help? Harry. Always Harry. Despite the late hour, she'd called Harry. What exactly had he said? She tried to replay the conversation in her mind.

 _"Harry, it's me. Ruth."_

 _"Ruth."_

 _"Yes."_

 _"What time is it?"_

 _"Late. Look, I'm sorry to be calling you at this hour but…"_

 _"Are you alright?"_

 _"Me? Yes, I'm fine, thanks."_

 _"Well, that's good."_

 _"Harry, I was just wondering if perhaps you could come over."_

 _"Come over? Now?"_

 _"Well, yes."_

 _"To your place?"_

 _"Yes. No. I mean, there's…"_

 _"What?"_

 _"There's someone I need you to meet."_

 _"Oh."_

That was the bit. _Oh_. The way he'd said that one syllable had been so full of…what? Disappointment? Displeasure? As though she'd shattered his hopes. Hopes of what, exactly? He'd been rather concerned for her wellbeing. That was certainly very Harry of him. He was always worried about her. She had the worst luck with things, getting kidnapped and attacked and things. A Section Head surely doesn't want his analyst to be in danger.

But perhaps it was more than that. Perhaps it wasn't just professional concern. Perhaps he had hoped she was asking him to come to hers for…personal reasons. A shiver ran through her at the thought and Ruth felt her face grow warm. Oh but to have Harry Pearce in her home, in her bed. What a thrill that would be! She didn't often allow herself to imagine such things, but she indulged now. What sort of a lover would he be? He was so powerful and intense always, but he could be so tender and caring. Which side would show, when clothes were discarded and desires laid bare?

Ruth quickly got out of bed, threw on her dressing gown, and went into the kitchen. Such thoughts were dangerous, she knew. How could she face him on the Grid, when she allowed herself to conjure salacious images of him in her head? The constant question of whether reality would match the fantasies of her yearning heart? How could she ever bear to be near him and yet be forced to restrain herself, if she let her mind wander this way? The thoughts filled anyway. Ruth closed her eyes, just picturing how he might look, what he might say and do, the sounds and tastes of him…

The kettle whistled and jolted her back to reality. She fixed her sweet tea and took a single sip. And the reckless decision was born.

Ruth went to the phone and dialed the number. It rang only twice before there came an answer.

"Pearce," he barked.

"Harry, it's me. Ruth."

"Ruth? What's wrong? What time is it?"

"It's late. I'm sorry to call, but…"

"Are you in trouble again, Ruth? What do you need?"

She bit her bottom lip to keep from moaning with her need. "I'm not in trouble. I was just wondering if perhaps you could come over," she asked quietly, repeating the same words she'd used before. Hoping he'd get her meaning.

Harry sighed on the line. "What's going on, Ruth?"

"I'd like you to come over."

"Come over to your place? Why? Who's there?"

She nearly started to giggle at his cluelessness, but she was too mortified over possible rejection. Ruth swallowed hard and forced the words out of her mouth. "Just me, Harry."

"Oh."

This time, 'oh' had a very different connotation. There was no disappointment this time. Surprise shone through. Surprise and hope.

They were both quiet for some time before Harry cleared his throat. "Ruth, what are you saying?"

"Come over, Harry. If…if you want to."

"Yes, I do," he answered very quickly.

"Okay. Um…good," she replied awkwardly.

"Give me fifteen minutes."

"Good," she said again, quickly hanging up the phone before she ruined it.

Ruth sat down at her kitchen table and sipped her tea for a while. That had just been a dream, surely. She hadn't actually…he wasn't really…

The doorbell rang. She jumped, spilling tea all over the table. Ruth swore under her breath and threw a dish rag over the mess as she rushed to answer the door.

Harry stood there, and looked, in a word: amazed. His honey hazel eyes were wide with excitement and dark with desire. "Ruth," he greeted, his voice low and husky.

She thought to look at what he was wearing, whether he'd been home or come straight from Thames House or if he'd changed his clothes. She thought to see if his arousal was evident the way she could feel evidence of her own. She thought to look anywhere other than his eyes, but she couldn't.

"You wanted me to come over?" he prompted, his intense gaze unwavering.

Ruth only nodded numbly. No sound would come out of her mouth.

Harry took a step forward and placed his hands on her hips, gently moving her aside so he could enter the house. His touch was like fire on her body. She nearly whimpered at that barest of contact. He closed the door behind her with his foot, keeping his hands on her. "Why did you ask me here, Ruth?" he asked quietly.

"I…" Her bravery from the phone call felt very far away now.

"Do you need me, Ruth?"

She nodded.

Harry leaned in closer, slowly, lest she bolt from his grasp. "Do you want me, Ruth?" he growled, his breath tickling her lips.

Her eyes fluttered closed and her lips parted to receive his kiss.

His mouth was hot and hungry. It was almost amusing, the idea that he could have that hunger for her. Her, of all people. Of all the beautiful, worldly, bright women who Harry Pearce had taken in his arms, he somehow wanted bookish, awkward Ruth Evershed.

"Oh no," she whispered against his lips, her fear at the insanity of it all threatening to outpace her lust.

Harry held her tight in his embrace but moved his face away from hers at her words. He rested his forehead against hers. "Tell me to stop. Tell me to stop and I will," he vowed.

But she couldn't answer him. She only tilted her head to recapture his lips. She swallowed the moan he emitted when she ground her hips against his, brushing up against his hardness, tingling at the warmth that bloomed between her legs.

He pulled away again, this time to gulp at the air before bringing his attentions lower, his teeth grazing against the sensitive skin of her neck, his tongue licking the salty sweat that was forming there.

"Harry, what are we…" she murmured, having lost any resolve behind her words.

"Tell me to stop," he repeated against her skin, daring her to end their tryst.

Her fingers tightened their grip in his hair, holding him against her.

Emboldened, he let his hands fall from her hips and undo the tie on her dressing gown. Underneath it, she wore a rather old set of cotton pajamas. Harry found his way beneath her top and onto her bare skin. She gasped upon feeling his touch, the fire he left on her wherever he moved. He paused, waiting for her to finally throw him off her. When she did nothing, he continued his explorations. He pushed down the elastic waistband on her bottoms, kneading the flesh of her bum, dipping his fingers between her legs. Her soaking wet knickers caused him to groan with longing.

Ruth pulled away from his kiss and stepped out of his grasp. She took his hand in hers and led him up the stairs to her bedroom. Then, looking deep into his eyes and telling him with a clear, strong voice, Ruth commanded, "Don't stop."

And he didn't.

They tumbled onto the bed together. All four of their hands shook as they undressed each other clumsily. When her body was bared to him, he touched her everywhere she'd imagined him. It seemed as though his hands and his mouth were all over every inch of her skin. Her own hands clawed at his back and chest and arms, marring his scarred body further with her scratches. She found purchase grasping his hair as he traveled down her body. His full, perfect, pouty lips caressed her breasts and stomach, and by the time his mouth ended up between her thighs, Ruth was writhing and gasping for more, more, more.

She opened her eyes for an instant and looked down at him. His dark eyes gazed at her across the flat plane of her stomach.

"Ruth," he whispered over and over against her as he licked and sucked at her folds.

"Yes, Harry," she moaned. As her climax overtook her, her whole body arched against the bed. Her thighs clenched around his ears, barely able to suffer through the glory of his ministrations.

Once she relaxed again, he traveled back up her body. His hands squeezed every bit of her, tracing up the line of her thighs and hips and waist and breasts. "Oh Ruth," he whispered reverently, kissing her lips once more.

She tasted herself on his tongue. It sent a jolt down between her legs once again. She raised her knees to cradle him against her body, urging him to her.

When Harry finally entered her, Ruth swore she saw stars. Never before had anything given her a more beautiful, thrilling feeling. Her body was somehow so attuned to him, so desperate for him. She hadn't even fully recovered from her first orgasm before his thrusts brought her another. Ruth crossed her ankles behind his back, pulling him deeper. She cried out in ecstasy, unable to contain herself.

As her aftershocks dissipated, Harry felt her go limp. He paused, shifting weight off his bad knee and rolling them over. He held her against his chest, kissing her sloppily as he thrust up into her. He gripped her bum tightly, rolling and grinding her against him, giving as much friction as he could for her. "Come for me again, Ruth," he growled.

She whimpered in response. All at once it was too much stimulation and yet not enough and yet exactly right. Her heart was surely going to pound right out of her chest. Her mouth was dry, she could barely breathe, half her body was numb. She emitted silent screams, unable to form any sound. And just as he requested, she came for a third time. Her muscles clenched tightly around him again. This time, it seemed to be exactly what tipped him over the edge. He jerked against her erratically and emptied himself inside her.

They both collapsed back onto the pillows, the sheets pushed to the bottom of the bed from their exuberant efforts. Harry was first to catch his breath and regain the power of speech. "I certainly hope this was why you wanted me to come over."

"Well, you did come. I did more than you, I think," she teased unthinkingly.

Harry let out a great wheezing laugh, his body shaking with it. Ruth sat up and realized what she'd said and her eyes went wide before she buried her face in her hands.

But Harry pulled her into his arms and kissed her hair. "Thank you," he murmured.

"I don't think it's customary to have to thank a woman for practically begging you to come over and shag her," Ruth replied in embarrassment.

"No begging was needed. I'm just glad I didn't misread you like…like when you called about Gary."

"So that is what you thought! I wasn't quite sure."

He chuckled, "Honestly, Ruth, I didn't think you were the sort of woman to invite a man 'round but I'm certainly glad you are."

"I am not that sort of woman," she insisted.

"I'm afraid you've undermined that statement."

"You're an exception."

"Am I?"

"You're exceptional in every regard."

Harry didn't quite know what to say. And so he tilted her face towards his and kissed her again.


End file.
